


I Slithered Here From Eden

by Cryptand_Bismol



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a transformational mood ring, Extended Scene, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Self-Indulgent, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19359445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptand_Bismol/pseuds/Cryptand_Bismol
Summary: Sometimes it takes until ten minutes before the End of the World and the lack of your own body to realise that, yeah, you probably should have kissed him sooner.Well, no time like the present.





	I Slithered Here From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has kudos-ed, commented, and read this fic  
> I have a goal of about a 10% ratio of kudos to hits on most of my fics, and honestly you have smashed it to almost double that, so thank you, it's so gratifying to know people enjoy this, it really inspires me to keep writing, and I honestly think the Good Omens fandom is the loveliest most darling fandom I've ever been in, I love you guys <3
> 
> Sappy moment over, enjoy the fic!
> 
> (Sorry if I don't reply to your comment, I do appreciate them, but I'm really not good at responding)
> 
> Also I’m not even joking every Hozier song reminds me of these two; From Eden? Talk? Nobody? Be? My Love Will Never Die?  
> (Ok my dramatic fanfic opening song quotes don’t really have anything to do with the actual fic but it’s like The Vibe, ok?) 
> 
> Title from 'From Eden'

_I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint_  
_I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave_  
_But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love_  
_I'm on the other side while we deny the truth_  
_We could have less to worry about, but honey I won't lie to you_  
_And everything I do I've had no love like your love_

_Hozier – Nobody_

_I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do_  
_So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imagining' you_

_Hozier - Talk_

* * *

 

It probably wasn’t the best timing. The world was about to end in, what, ten minutes? Maybe less? And the anti-Christ – Adam – who he had sort of tried to kill less than a minute ago was standing right there. But there was something about being discorporated, almost being drafted into the Heavenly army, not having his own body, and the fact the world was about to end in ten minutes that had him thinking yes, now, this is the perfect time, maybe the only time.

Besides, Madam Tracy really could be convincing in her earnest sweetness and, sharing each other’s thoughts for the past few hours, she was really very insistent that ‘ _you should do something about that darling Demon of yours before the end of the world_ ’ and well he’d been thinking it for so long anyway that he found he couldn’t disagree with her. Especially in his own – their own? – mind.

As it was, he was no longer possessing the poor woman, Adam having graciously gifted him his body back, tartan bowtie and all. He took a moment to confirm that, yes, this really was a corporeal form, before he spun around to where Crowley was standing, grabbed him by the lapels, and kissed him full on the mouth.

It was mostly uncoordinated, teeth clacking a little and their noses squashed a bit awkwardly together, but he had moved one hand to that glorious hair, the other low on his back pulling him in. And he didn’t even notice that the beloved only remaining copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter had just fallen out of Crowley’s hand and to the ground with a slap (if he did he might have noticed a singed prophecy floating out into the breeze; _‘when one become two, two ſhall become one, and Adam ſhall cast his gaze upon the ſnake of Eden’*)._ He was a bit worried about the way Crowley had sort of just stood there for the first ten seconds, but then he almost whimpered into Aziraphale’s mouth, sagging into him, and gripped his hips bruisingly tight.

Somewhere along the line tongue had been introduced and they had devolved into full on snogging in the middle of Tadfield Airbase at the end of all days with the anti-Christ, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, three children, two witchfinders, a witch, and a sort-of-psychic standing just behind them. He pulled back when he heard Madam Tracy’s voice saying ‘Oh, how sweet!’ and a friend of Adam’s saying ‘Ugh, _Men’,_ but kept his eyes on Crowley’s, hand moving to cup his cheek and brush a thumb across the reddening flesh.

Crowley almost loomed over him, looking at him with such intensity that he could only think of Medusa and the possibility of him turning into stone. Aziraphale smiled fondly at him, and Crowley practically vibrated beneath his fingers, the soft skin suddenly taking on an odd texture. He drew his eyes away from Crowley’s beautiful yellow ones to look at his cheek, only to see black scales rippling across his face and down his neck. Before he could blink, the Demon in front of him was gone, leaving a great black mass on the floor.

He vaguely registered noise behind him, the children talking about peace and a clean world, and the clash of metal, but was distracted as the mass moved, curling up Aziraphale’s leg, and he realised that Crowley had shifted into his snake form, tail rattling** like a dog wagging its tail.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, “Perhaps this wasn’t the most opportune moment for that, my dear.”

Crowley just hissed at him, apparently deciding that vocal cords were not necessary right now. He slithered up Aziraphale’s body until he was wrapped around his shoulders, head just under his chin and forked tongue tickling his neck. Aziraphale noticed the book discarded on the floor and tutted disapprovingly at his friend as he bent down to pick it up. Another slip of paper fell from the pages as he did so, and he quickly caught it, scanning the words quizzically.

The was a loud bark behind him and a cry of pain, so Aziraphale pocketed the scrap and finally decided to turn to whatever was happening behind him and was rather surprised to find one of the children stabbing Famine with a flaming sword as the hellhound bit at his heels.

Crowley hissed at him again, nudging his face. Aziraphale didn’t exactly speak snake, but he did speak Crowley and could tell exactly what he was thinking.

“Ah. Yes, I do believe that did used to be my sword,” he said, with a sort of prideful incredulity.

They watched the scales and the sword clatter to the ground as the Horseman vanished into black smoke, watched as Adam talked with Death, and watched as he spread his wings and flew off into nothingness. It was quite impressive, if a bit anticlimactic, for the supposed End of the World.

“See Crowley, it’s like I’ve always said-” he began, but Crowley butted him again, rubbing his scales together with a rasp, moving his head up to the sky and down to the earth. Aziraphale frowned at him, and sighed, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Excuse me,” Adam said in much the same tone as he had earlier, “But why is he a snake?”

Aziraphale smiled a little warily at him; he was the anti-Christ, after all, “Oh, he does this when he gets overwhelmed.”*** There was an indignant hiss by his ear, “Oh hush, my dear, I think it’s sweet.”

The snake sullenly crept further up the back of his head and settled down into Aziraphale’s soft hair.

It was the girl with the bicycle who spoke up this time, “You! You’re the one who stole my book!”

“Ah, yes, well stealing is a strong word. Call it an accidental acquisition,” he reluctantly held it out to her. The only copy! Perhaps the only thing left of his bookshop, even if it was never really part of it. He felt himself deflate as the pages stroked past his fingers one last time. Crowley wrapped himself a little tighter around him, as best an embrace as he could manage in this form, his tail brushing against his cheek in comfort.

The girl looked most put out by the state of the charred pages, but instead put the book aside under her arm, and turned back to Aziraphale, apparently seeing him as some sort of authority out here, “What is going on out here?”

“Well, it’s a long story...”

“Try me,” she said.

“Er, so, in the beginning, in the Garden, there was- well, he was,” he said gesturing to Crowley, “a wily old Serpent, and I was _technically_ on Apple tree duty. Dreadfully dull. Of course, with him being so wily he did a bit of tempting, which I must say he is very good at, and lo and behold Eve ate the apple and-”

“Hang on,” her companion with the glasses said, “Are you talking about _the Garden of Eden_?”

“Why yes, yes of course, lovely place.”

Crowley made an odd chirp-hiss in agreement from his perch.

“He’s an Angel, dearie,” Madam Tracy said confidingly, “And his friend is a Demon.”

“He’s a Demon?!” the man practically cried, stepping back to hide behind bicycle girl, who didn’t look all that surprised.   

“Demon! Don’t ye worry laddie, I’ve got a finger!” Shadwell said, pointing the grubby digit at them.

“Don’t worry, he’s actually rather a nice-” but before Aziraphale could finish (but not before Crowley lightly bit him on the ear at being called _nice_ ) the sky shook, and the ground moved, and their respective superiors appeared behind them.

Gabriel had barely contained rage on his face when he saw how Crowley was wrapped around the Principality, and Beelzebub looked like she might be sick (Then again, she often looked like that. Must be all the flies).

“Crowley, the traitor,” she said disdainfully, clicking her fingers, and suddenly the weight around his shoulders was gone, and Crowley was sprawled on the ground in front of Aziraphale. The Angel quickly helped him up, standing boldly beside him, clinging tight to his arm.

Gabriel turned to Aziraphale now, almost finishing Beelzebub’s sentence, “And his little whore of an Angel.”

“Well, really!” Aziraphale said, affronted. Crowley make an odd sound like he forgot he wasn’t a snake and couldn’t actually hiss and took a step forward with the most malicious intent he’d seen in his eyes since, well, ever. As sweet as Crowley defending his honour was, Aziraphale gripped his arm firmly, grounding him, and keeping him from doing something stupid like trying to smite an Archangel and a Demon Lord.  

But as quick as they had been addressed, the spotlight left them, with Adam being the much more pressing issue for Heaven and Hell right now. Their superiors – or former superiors Aziraphale supposed - turned to the boy and proceeded to butcher talking him worse than they had butchered raising Warlock.

Adam was mostly unmoved by their promises that he’d rule the world, but Aziraphale could see him falter when faced with his role in The Great Plan, his ‘destiny’. The Angel thought back through the ages, back to something that might diffuse this, but he’d lived most of his life believing in The Great Plan, and like it or not, it had unfurled exactly as was foretold. He looked over at Crowley, yellow eyes meeting his own, thought back to their very first meeting in the Garden, of Crowley’s simple questions of God’s decisions that had caused his fall and then, a memory, a flash of words, another one of his questions; ‘ _The Great Plan is ineffable?’._

But if they knew what was in The Great Plan, then it wasn’t ineffable, was it? So what _was_ The Ineffable Plan?

Pulling away from Crowley, he cleared his throat and stepped over to Adam, “Um, excuse me, you keep talking about The Great Plan-”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said in that tone he reserved for those he thought lesser, like an ant crushed under his heel, “Maybe you should just keep your mouth shut-”

“Is that The Ineffable Plan?” Aziraphale barrelled on, praying this would work.

He let out a small sigh of relief as the pair tried to shrug off the questions, but he asked again, and saw the doubt cross their faces.

Crowley must have seen it too, for he swaggered over to him, weighing in, “It would be a pity if you thought you were doing what The Great Plan said, but you were actually going directly against God’s Ineffable Plan.”

It worked, it actually worked. Aziraphale could kiss him. Well, he probably would again in a moment or so, but for now he enjoyed watching Gabriel and Beelzebub try to save face as they slunk back to Heaven and Hell. Not before they did the preternatural equivalent of miming ‘you’re dead’, of course, and threatening to call Satan to tell off his child.

Everything was quiet for a minute, the End of the Word averted just like that. Another minute and they all sighed a collective sigh of relief, daring to smile that, yes, the world was still here!

Aziraphale was himself beaming, turning the blinding smile on Crowley. It dropped just a bit in anticipation as Crowley stalked towards him, all long legs and sinful purpose, until he was standing practically nose to nose with the Angel, unshielded eyes boring into his own. Aziraphale’s breath hitched, knowing this kiss would be more than just an End of the World whim, more than a trying-it-while-I’ve-got-the-chance but an actual desire, an actual lust they both had.

Their lips had barely touched again when Crowley suddenly gripped his arms tight, too tight, slumping forwards and crying out in pain, “No. No! No, no, no, no!”

 Aziraphale could feel it too, feel the evil and the malice and the _fury,_ “What’s happening? I can feel...”

“They did it, they told his father.”

“Oh no,” he swallowed.

“And his Satanic father is not happy.”

Crowley had dropped out of his arms completely now, practically writhing on the floor like he’d become a snake again, as Satan poured every bit of his malevolence into the warped bond all Fallen Angels shared.

The ground shook harder this time, unbalancing them all. Their exclamations were drowned out by the noise of the Earth churning beneath their feet.

“What’s happening?” someone, Shadwell he thought, shouted.

“Well, you can call me an old silly, but it looks like the Devil is coming. Satan himself.” Aziraphale said, steadying himself as the ground shook once more.

He turned desperately to Crowley who was still kneeling on the tarmac.

“Right,” he said, fear and despair and regret clear in his eyes, “That was that. It was nice knowing you.”

Aziraphale looked at him incredulously, “We can’t give up now!”

“This is Satan himself, it isn’t about Armageddon. This is personal. We are _fucked!_ ”

Another tremor struck through the ground, and the Angel stumbled backwards, next to the pile of weapons left by the Horsemen. He didn’t know why he picked up the sword, but it was something, anything, which was a lot more than Crowley was giving him right now. This wasn’t how it should be, Aziraphale thought, Crowley always had an idea, had the best imagination of anyone he’d ever known, had a way with ideas and words that could fix anything, but right now he wasn’t doing _anything._

He held the sword aloft, trying to seem intimidating, to encourage Crowley to wile his way out of this, “Come up with something or I’ll...” but it felt so wrong to threaten him with this, saw too much of a betrayal in Crowley’s eyes. He lowered the sword, “Or I’ll never talk to you again. We’ll never...”

Never get to kiss again. Even in his own mind that was a threat worse than death, was the whole reason they had been fighting to save Earth, to save the time they had with each other.

And Crowley, dearest darling Demon that he was, seemed to think so too, building up as much power as he could and throwing his arms into the air to stop time, to give them time. Adam truly was better than either had hoped, he wasn’t good or bad or even neutral, he was human, so very, very human, and as they stood beside him, hand in hand, armed only with a flaming sword and a tyre iron, they had _hope_.

It was enough.

Adam said everything he felt, renounced Satan as his father even as the being towered over them all in fire and flame. He willed reality to his own making, he was never the son of Satan, this beast was never his dad, his dad was stuffy and proper and puttering towards them in his car, all traces of the Devil gone in a cloud of ash and smoke.

“That’s not really his father,” Aziraphale said quietly to Crowley, as the mustachioed man called out for Adam with a tone that could only be described as a ‘dad voice’.

“It is now, and it always was,” Crowley said, smile growing like a flower in bloom, “He did it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were immediately drawn to Crowley’s lips, the soft happy smile showing his teeth. He ignored Adam’s father worriedly asking them for an explanation, choosing instead to close the gap between him and Crowley once more, one hand curling at the nape of his neck and the other pulling off the sunglasses that had been digging into the bridge of his nose.

Crowley responded just as enthusiastically as he had before, hands mussing up the white-blonde curls, forked tongue slipping between his lips. Aziraphale let his free hand roam across his hips, eventually sliding round to cup his arse with a gentle squeeze.

Crowley squeaked into his mouth, expression melting into something positively gooey with love. By the time the Angel noticed the scales forming up his arms and his neck and his face, the transformation had already happened.

“Oh, Crowley, no, not again!” Aziraphale chided, a yellow-eyed snake once again in front of him.

“Does he always turn into a snake when you kiss him?” Anathema asked, while Adam’s dad piled the children into his car, too focused on telling Adam exactly how grounded he was to even notice the transformation that had happened right before him.

“Hmm, well we’re currently two for two,” the Angel said, then looked down at the serpent coiling up his arms, “I suppose I’ll have to keeping kissing him to find out.”

“Ew, gross,” one of the eavesdropping children said, pretending to gag.

“Two for... you’ve never kissed before today?” the witch asked in confusion, thinking back to their brief car ride, the comfort between them, the _pet names._

“Oh, you should have seen the _pining_ in his head, my lovely,” Madame Tracy said, looking at them fondly.

But Aziraphale was no longer listening, he was busy coaxing Crowley back to his kissable human shape, “Come on, you silly serpent,” he said scratching the back of his little head.

There was a swelling of the snake in his arms, before the scales started to shift with a rasp, and suddenly there was a human shaped Crowley there.

Aziraphale was practically carrying him bridal style, but the weight didn’t seem to faze him, “Oh, good lord,” he rolled his eyes, even as Crowley slithered his arms around his shoulders to clutch them behind Aziraphale’s neck.

“Well, what were you saying about kissing?” Crowley said temptingly, pulling him down and claiming his lips once more.

This time he stayed hale and whole, no scales in sight.

At least until Aziraphale looked down at him with all the love and affection he could muster***** and quietly but surely said, “I love you,” to which Crowley replied with an equally fond hiss and happy rattle of his tail.

**Author's Note:**

> *Agnes’ family had long thought this was a post-prophecy, a sort of retelling of the biblical tale. They weren’t entirely wrong, Eve had indeed been formed from Adam’s rib (much easier to use the same basic make up than God sculpting another human soul, she was rather busy after all), and they did become one in the biblical sense, the beast with two backs, and Adam did encounter the Snake of Eden in the garden. However, it was actually a twofer prophecy, and it meant both the biblical tale and the apocalyptical tale currently playing out in Tadfield involving the lip-locking of an Angel and a Demon. 
> 
> **Crowley had modelled his appearance on a snake he had seen slithering around in Eden, if with a bit of red embellishment, and found he was quite fond of his original snake form. The Walterinnesia aegyptia did not actually have a rattle, however Crowley, being a rather dramatic demon, found that having one was rather satisfying and added a bit of flair to his snake-y statements. They usually didn’t have big yellow eyes either, but Crowley had never been able to change that since his Fall, no matter how hard he tried. 
> 
> ***Aziraphale had experienced this a few times before. Whenever the Demon would become overwhelmed or stressed (thought he would never, ever admit that he was), he would subconsciously shift into his snake form and, more often than not, sulk. One memorable time for Aziraphale was soon after Crowley had foiled Heaven’s plan to recall the Angel back in 1800s, when Crowley was so pleased Aziraphale was still at the bookshop and that his plan had worked that he shifted right there in the hallway. One memorable time for Crowley (that Aziraphale was Not Allowed to know about) was when he stumbled across Oscar Wilde giving the Angel an enthusiastic and sloppy kiss in his bookshop**** and he was so rattled that he shifted and slithered away and slept for another twenty five years. 
> 
> ****What Crowley didn’t know, mostly because he was asleep at the time and had flounced off dramatically, was that Aziraphale had gently pushed Oscar away soon after the Demon had left, and very apologetically explained ‘I’m sorry, my dear fellow, I enjoy your company very much but I’m afraid that I cannot reciprocate your advances’. Oscar was most understanding. Aziraphale did, however, strongly encourage him to talk to that dear Robbie boy and to stay away from the simply dreadful Douglas. Sadly, Oscar never was very good at resisting temptation. 
> 
> *****Which was a lot considering he was a being made of love.


End file.
